All Fall Down
by ifyoucanfindmeimhere
Summary: Five Times Laura and Saul Drink Together, and One Time They Don't


1.

She had told him she would make it back fine, but in all honesty it was a relief when he insisted he'd see her home. Her heart raced, as it always tended to after a meeting, as they scurried through the settlement, unable to shake the feeling that somehow the cylons would know where they'd been and what they'd been planning. Her willingness to suffer the consequences didn't stop the nightmares of what would happen when she did. She was grateful for his hand on her back, for his insistence on leading, for his innate understanding (or perhaps just military training) that had him check her tent first before coming out letting her know it was safe to enter.

The gathering dark told her she should thank him, and send him home before the curfew sirens rang. Instead, she offered him a drink. He hesitated only a second before nodding his agreement, and sat down in one of her rickety chairs. She brought out a half-empty bottle from the little cabinet where she stored her food, and he grunted in appreciation as she poured a healthy amount into two glasses. Sitting down at the other side of the small table, she felt like she should say something, but wasn't sure what, or how he'd respond.

He saved them both the awkwardness, raising his glass high. "To the Old Man. Let him get his ass back here quick, before we all get ourselves killed."

She felt tears spring to her eyes, and bit her bottom lip to control her emotions. A mutual respect of Bill Adama was hardly a good basis for a friendship, much less a life or death partnership, yet at the moment it seemed the most solid foundation around. She lifted her glass to meet his.

"So say we all." Bringing the glass to her lips she knocked back the entire drink. He did the same, and their glasses met the table with a solid thunk at the same time. Before she could recover enough from the burn of the alcohol in her throat, the warning sirens began to screech into the quiet night air.

"Thank you for the drink." He stood from the table and nodded his head in thanks. She watched him turn to leave.

"Saul." He turned around and gave her a questioning look.

"Be careful out there."

He nodded again, and gave her a serious look. "You too." Then he turned, opened the flap and took a quick look in both directions before setting off towards his own tent.

* * *

2.  
A bolt of terror coursed through her as the footsteps stopped at the front of her tent, and she clutched the sheets, struggling to sit up in the bed. It wouldn't be Cottle- he had left not an hour before, and he always announced himself these days when he came to check in on her. She looked around in a panic for something she could use as a weapon, gasping as she turned to swing her legs out of the bed, only to be stopped by a wave of crippling dizziness. Through eyes partially clenched to try and control the spinning of her head she saw her tent flap open, and a figure rush to her side. She cringed and instinctively threw her hands up to protect her head from another impact.

It never came.

She waited a moment, then another. She heard the intruder saying something, but she couldn't make it out over the sound of her blood pumping through her ears. Finally she took a breath and chanced a glance up… and relief coursed through her.

"Saul," she gasped, sagging as her body began to collapse. At her recognition he moved towards her again, catching her around the waist just as she began to fall back into the bed. She was limp in his arms as he laid her upper body back against the pillows, then helped her legs to follow. He brought the blanket carefully back over her, covering the deep red and purple bruises on her lower legs, tucking it up under her arms awkwardly. He studied her face, equally bruised and swollen as the rest of her, and she squirmed under the guilt in his gaze.

Clearing his throat, he looked like he was going to say something else, but what came out was, "Cottle said you're not eating." He stuck his hand in his jacket pocket, and withdrew a small wrapped bundle of rations and set it on the nightstand next to her.

She shook her head, wondering what else Cottle had told him. "He also said you're not sleeping." Well, there was that. She watched as he dug back into the jacket and procured a small flask. "It's medicinal. Doc okayed it."

"You asked Cottle if you could get me drunk?" She giggled at the absurdity of that conversation, then winced as the movement jarred her ribs.

"Not drunk, a nightcap." He unscrewed the cap on the flask and took a long swig before handing it over to her. Awkwardly she took hold of it with her uninjured hand and took a tentative sip, making a face as she swallowed.

"Ugh, what is that?"

"New stuff. Best they can do without being able to grow anything. Or harvest."

She crinkled her nose, then took another, bigger swig. She handed it back to him, and he drank the rest in one shot.

The warning sirens began blaring; curfew had been moved up an hour since the last bombing.

"You better go, Saul."

He nodded, but made no move to leave. "Saul."

He got up, but instead of heading for the door, he took of his coat and draped it over the chair before unlacing his boots and kicking them off. "What are you doing?"

He found a match, and lit the lamp on her table before moving around to the other side of her bed and looking down on her matter-of-factly. "You can't recover without sleep, and you won't be able to sleep while you're worried about them coming for you again. So I'm staying here, and you're gonna to sleep."

Before she could argue, he held up his hand to shush her. "Nope. There's another meeting day after tomorrow, and we need you there. Now, will you scoot over, or are you gonna make me sit on the floor?"

Stunned into silence, she nodded toward the empty side of the mattress. "Good." He pulled back the covers and slipped into the bed, careful not to jostle her. The cot was cramped for two people, especially as they both made sure to keep a respectable difference between them. Unnerved, Laura struggled to make sense of the situation. "Isn't Ellen going to worry where you are?"

"Nah. I told her I wouldn't be home tonight. She'll find a way to keep her bed warm, I'm sure."

The simple statement left her even more perplexed, and not for the first the she wondered how he could have turned out to be so much more than the brusque, hardened drunk she had taken him for in their first early interactions. As she watched him plan strategy at resistance meetings she had finally come to realize what it was Bill saw in him, and found herself endlessly thankful that he had had the terrible misfortune of moving to the planet the day the cylons invaded. She had many doubts that their efforts would ever lead to freedom from the cylons; she had less doubts that if it did, it would be largely because of him.

"Saul-" she felt like she needed to thank him- for trying to steal the election, for spearheading the resistance, for believing that Bill would come back- and most of all for being here tonight. But he cut her off.

"Hush. You need to sleep. So sleep." His tone was harsh, but the meaning was caring. She wanted to protest, but found that with the combination of the horror of the last few days, the alcohol, and his presence next to her, she was suddenly unable to keep her eyes open.

Under the blankets, his hand found her wrapped and splinted arm, and he laced his fingers in hers and gave them a light squeeze. "Sleep." He repeated again.

She did.

* * *

3.

She found him on the bleachers, staring out over the empty pyramid court. Even though Cottle had warned her what had happened to him, she couldn't help but flinch when she saw it herself. She quickly schooled her expression neutral and took a seat next to him, following his gaze over the court to the east side of the settlement where the NCP training camp is.

She doesn't know quite what to say. Yesterday after hearing he'd been released, she'd gone to the infirmary, only to have Cottle tell her he'd refused all treatment and gone home. Torn between her conflicting emotions, she'd eventually convinced herself it was better to stay away, her own experiences in his position reminding her how she'd wanted no one to see her after... besides, he had Ellen to help him, to comfort him.

She chanced a glance at him, studying the gauze over the hollow of his eye socket. She wondered if he knew what Ellen had been doing, had done, to get him out of detention. She hoped he didn't. She hoped he never found out.

"Here." Laura reached into her jacket and pulled out his flask.

_She'd slept well that night he stayed, his presence giving her the comfort she needed to sleep. When she'd finally woke the next morning, somehow rested and restored despite the lingering pain and uncertainty, he'd been gone. She had almost convinced herself his presence had been a dream, until she'd noticed his flask still on the nightstand. _

He turned, giving the flask a hard look before taking it in his hand, unscrewing the top and taking a deep drink. He offered it back to her and she accepted, taking her own smaller sip of the noxious liquid.

Swallowing, she made a face and handed it back to him. "That stuff doesn't get any better with time."

He shook his head. "No, it doesn't"

They each had another go at the flask.

"It's good to have you back, Saul."

He grunted in agreement.

"You should call off school tomorrow," he said eventually, his gaze still pinned to the east, his mind seeing the future destruction.

She shook her head. "I can't. They'll know something's up."

"They're gonna pick you up again, Laura."

She shut her eyes and tried to block the washed out memory of the detention cell, the smell of her blood on the ground, the sound of bone splintering. She took a deep shuddering breath, and when she opened her eyes, he had turned to look at her, the haunted look in his remaining eye a familiar companion to the one she saw every morning in the mirror.

She held out her hand for the flask, and he handed it to her. "I know."

She took another drink.

* * *

4.  
It's not like it's hard to track him down- by all accounts he's hardly left his quarters in days- but even so, she finds reasons to delay, finishing her meeting with the Admiral, checking on the civilian refugees in dogsville, even stopping by lifestation for a quick exam and blood draw to appease Cottle, before finally making her way to his quarters. He doesn't answer her knock at the hatch, but it only takes a glance and her marines open the heavy door for her, and she slips inside.

His quarters are dark, and her eyes adjust slowly. The room smells stale, unlived in, but also rotten- like dirty bodies and mildewed clothes and mud and blood and sweat. Everyone who got off New Caprica smelled like that coming from the planet, but now, three days and showers later, the smell brings with it an assault on her senses that makes her choke back a gag.

"Amnesty, huh?" His voice, is gruff and low, and it startles her. She squints behind her glasses, and can just make him out sitting on his rack. A glint of reflection plays off a glass as he turns it in his hand, and the light reflects briefly on his face, highlighting the white of his new eye patch.

"Amnesty," she confirms, and takes a shuffling step forward, but almost immediately trips over a chair she didn't notice was in front of her. She catches herself and curses, levering a glare he also can't see back at him when he grunts in response.

There's a click, then the room is bathed in dim lamplight, and Saul settles back into place, staring into a half-empty glass of amber liquid. She steps closer reluctantly, cautiously, ready for his forced calm to segue to rage or anguish or even violence. _He's been drunk and acting erratically,_her marine guard warned her when she told him where they were going. He had wanted to come in here with her; she declined his offer. She hated herself for being relieved that her guards were, however, stationed just outside the hatch.

Next to him was a half-empty bottle of alcohol, and laying across his lap was a piece of lavender fabric- Ellen's nightgown, she realized. He fingered the delicate lace trim of the garment with his calloused, cut up hands, tracing the design along the hem. He looked up at her again, caught her watching him, and picked up the bottle of booze. "Drink?"

She shook her head, turned to retrieve a chair from next to his table to sit on.

"What, now you're president again, you're too good to share a drink with me?" His words stopped her, and she turned back around slowly. His face was painted in pure devastation; gone was the cocky bravado, the haggard but certain old war horse. He was tired, ragged. Even with the beard gone and his hair trimmed, he looked so much older than he had before. She knew she did too.

She straightened her shoulders, and gave him a small grin she didn't feel. "Of course not." She walked back towards him, and at his nod, sat on the far side of his bed, smoothing down the hem of her black skirt just for something to do with her hands.

A moment later he handed her a drink, and she eyed it apprehensively before taking a sip.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded in agreement, and tipped her head back, drinking the entire shot in one go.

He gave her an appreciative look, and the barest hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He held the bottle towards her, and she let him refill her glass.

They sat like that for several minutes, the low hum of the ships engines the only sound in the room. He took another shot, and gave her another, before setting his glass down on the bedside table with a loud thunk.

"Tell me one thing, Laura." He looked up at her, and she nodded once, reluctantly meeting his hard gaze.

"Tell me that you didn't want to do it."

Laura went to answer, then stopped, cutting off the automatic response as she thought of her horror when she had learned of what the Circle was doing; and the little bit of her that had been immensely relieved.

"It's not about what I want, Saul. It's about what we have to do for the fleet." He continued to stare, still waiting for the real answer under the politicians'. "I want them to pay for what they did to us," she said softly, and dropped her gaze back to her empty glass. "But killing each other… we have to be better than the cylons. We have to."

His voice was soft and reluctant in a way she'd never heard it before. "Well, alright then. Amnesty."

She dared a glance up, and some of the hardness was gone from his face, replaced instead with grief.

"Saul," she started, knowing that this was perhaps the only chance she'd have, "about Ellen, I just want to say-"

"Don't," he said harshly. He shook his head, and his voice softened a touch. "Don't."

He stood from the bed with a pained groan, and shuffled over past her. "You should know by now we do better when we don't talk," he said, his voice muffled as he leaned down and dug around in his closet.

He stood up again a moment later, another half full bottle in his hand. Walking over, he showed it to her. "We were saving this for a special occasion. Never found the right moment," he almost choked on the last word, and Laura's heart broke for him. He gestured towards her cup and she lifted it, watching as he poured what was likely the last drink of Caprican Ambrosia in the universe into her shot glass. He filled his own, set the bottle down, and came to stand in front of her, holding his glass to the light and studying it.

Laura stood and lifted her drink, clinking it to his. "To Ellen," she said, before knocking back the precious liquid. She watched as his expression moved from surprise toanguish. "To Ellen," he repeated, and drank the contents of the glass.

* * *

5.

Saul couldn't help feeling self-conscious as he entered Joe's Bar, and almost immediately gained the attention of everyone in the room. Was it his imagination that they were all staring at him? No, they were. His blood ran cold, and he considered turning straight around and bolting to warn Sam and Tory and Tyrol, but terror rooted his body in place. After several tense seconds, his mind told him that something else was wrong; instead of glares or looks of mistrust and fear as was expecting, the most prevalent emotion directed towards him at the moment seemed to be... relief?

Not sure what to make of it, Saul gave a quick nod in acknowledgement to a few of the officers, and walked towards the bar- then stopped short again as he realized just what was going on.

Even if she hadn't been immediately recognizable in her pink blouse and red hair, the only person in Joe's not looking at him was sitting at the far corner of the bar, hunched over a glass and emanating a silent but crystal clear warning of _GO AWA_Y. The three barstools closest to her were vacant, and the rest of the patrons had crammed into the space to the left, seemingly desperate to keep their distance from their unhappy leader. He sighed heavily.

He approached slowly and settled into the seat next to her, watching as she tensed when she felt him approach, then once she realized it was him, let out an unsteady breath and her face melted into an expression that broke his heart.

He liked to think he had seen Laura Roslin at some of the worst points in her life; just as she had seen him at his. Even bruised and brutally beaten by Cylons, her spirit had seemed indomitable, mixed with a hint of defiance. He saw no trace of that in her features today, only devastation and a new hollowness that he had never seen before.

She turned her head back to her glass, fingering the rim. Saul looked up to Joe, who shot him a look that was part relief, part appreciation. Saul nodded. "I'll have whatever she's having," he grunted towards the bartender. When it appeared in his hand a moment later Saul took it in his hand and knocked back entire glass before dropping it down hard on the table. "Another."

Laura looked at him again, the barest hint of a wry smile on his face. "Bad day?"

He shook his head. "Nope, not really. Just trying to catch up. What is that, number two? Three?" He gestured towards her drink.

She snorted. "Try one." At his raised eyebrows, she continued. "It seems I've become a lightweight," she said mournfully.

Glancing down at the bandage on her arm, Saul briefly entertained the notion of asking whether or not she was even allowed to mix alcohol with her medication at all, but thought better of it. "Well, then, I guess you're the one who has to catch up."

Nodding, she went back to staring into her drink. After a long moment, she asked, "So, did he send you to find me?"

"Nope. I just came for a drink. Why, were you lost?"

He caught her shoulders move with the slightest bit of a giggle before she turned back to him with a sad smile. "No. I just needed to get away. Get some air."

He nodded in understanding as his new drink arrived. He took a sip, and made a point to look around the room dramatically, noting that most of the earlier watchers had gone back to their own conversations; the ones that hadn't were still shooting them with curious stares. "You manage to ditch your guards, too?"

Grimacing as she took a tiny sip from her glass, she shook her head. "Sent them away."

"Ah."

"But, I think they're around the corner." Saul looked around, and sure enough, from behind a doorway fifteen feet away he saw both of Laura's military guards watching them like hawks. Saul raised his glass and tipped it to them in acknowledgement, then took another drink.

"So..." he trailed off, not sure what exactly he was supposed to do while sitting with his best friends whatever-she-was (not to mention the president) getting drunk on bad hooch in Galactica's makeshift saloon. Obviously she was upset, but he was the last person in the worlds who should be tasked with trying to make her feel better. "Do you want me to find Bill?"

"No," she said, quickly and too forcefully.

_Well_, thought Saul. _That's one problem. _ "What can I do for you then? Are you alright- do I need to get Cottle? You want to go back to _Colonial One_?"

Laura shook her head, and reached up to push a curl of hair from her face. Less than an inch from the offending lock her hand froze, and she slapped her arm back down towards the table like it had been burned. She clasped her hands together in her lap and rocked slightly forward in on the stool, her face pained as she worried her lower lip between her teeth.

"Laura." He hesitated briefly before placing his hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently. Under the thin fabric of her blouse he could feel her trembling. "Laura," he said again more softly, and waited until she turned to look at him. "What do you need?"

She took a deep breath and sighed, looking across the bar for a long moment. "Are there any guest quarters available?" she asked finally.

He tried to school the surprise off his face at her question. "For you? Sure."

"Good." She turned back towards him. "Could you take me there?"

"Now?"

Shaking her head, she gave him an uncertain smile. "In a few minutes?"

"OK." He cocked his head towards her still unfinished drink. "You gonna finish that?"

A soft grin broke out on her face, and for the first time tonight, he saw a little bit of the spirit return to her eyes as she slid the half-full glass over to him.

* * *

As he entered lifestation, his mind screamed at him to turn around and leave, that this wasn't his problem or his concern. But he didn't turn, instead pulled by an invisible force towards the corner of the sickbay. _Her corner_, his mind supplied, and he shook the chilling thought that one way or another, it wouldn't be for much longer.

He caught Cottle's eye as the old doctor looked up from tending to a wound on the arm of a brunette Six, and at Saul's unasked question he nodded towards the blue curtains separating her from the rest of the ward.

"You can go on in. She's been sleeping on and off, but now that I got her rehydrated and on some oxygen, she's stable. Well, as much as can be expected." Cottle shrugged, and turned back to the laceration in front of him.

Saul approached the curtain apprehensively. Pulling it to the side, he breathed a sigh of relief when he found her with her eyes shut. He wanted to turn right around, but couldn't pull his eye away from the sight of her. It was almost impossible to reconcile the image in front of him from the woman he knew- the figure in the bed was tiny and thin, fragile and broken, traits he would never have attributed to Laura Roslin. It had been months, but he still couldn't get used to her without a fall of unruly red hair framing her head, and her skin seemed to be stretched almost painfully thin over the tiny bones of her face. And she was so still; he made himself wait until he saw her chest rise and fall as she took a slow, unsteady breath, then he took a step back, and grasped the curtain to pull it closed again.

"Bill?" He froze at the soft, hopeful question, and looked back towards the bed. Her eyes were open now, but pushed together as she tried to make him out without her glasses.

"No, uh. He's still stuck in CIC... it's just me. Sorry I woke you, I'll let you rest." He moved to shut the curtain, but before he could she called out again.

"No, Saul." She struggled to sit up a little straighter in the bed; he moved to her side and gently took hold of her shoulder, helping her lean forward before placing a pillow behind her back. She settled back into it with a sigh. "Please... stay." She smiled and blushed, the barest hint of color instantly rising on her pale cheeks. "I mean, if you don't have anywhere you need to be."

He shook his head. "Nope. Nowhere I'd rather be." He sat in the chair next to her bed, and hesitated only a second before holding his hand out to her. Her thin fingers found his almost instantly, and he closed his grasp around them, willing heat into her chilled skin.


End file.
